


Rising Like a Boat from the Mist

by BoldlyGoingNowhereFast



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e07 Yakimono, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 00:46:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4458872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoldlyGoingNowhereFast/pseuds/BoldlyGoingNowhereFast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will doesn't call Jack Crawford, and Chilton learns what it's like to live with seven dogs. Chilton sings and Will seduces Hannibal Lecter. Neither of them expected they would find solace in each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rising Like a Boat from the Mist

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is another "Will hides Chilton" story, but this fic just needed to be written. I started shipping this pairing because of a dream I had a few weeks ago. Imagine that.

Frederick Chilton has always been a man of ego. His clothing and hair are a matter of pride that he hides behind, showing off the wealth and success he worked so hard to achieve. His office and house are immaculate, his taste in food and drink only that of the high-class in which he fits himself, a second skin he slid into. Chilton finds it fits him well, and as a man who has never valued personal relationships as deeply as he does his career and his status, it has never mattered to him that he tends to rub people the wrong way.

One man has manages to topple all of it in one go, and before Chilton has even gotten his head around the situation, he is standing on Will Graham’s porch, covered in blood and weakly asking to use his shower.

Chilton supposes dignity is less important than his life, and he isn’t too proud to go crawling to Will in his time of need. It has lead him to wonder if, perhaps in the future, he should actually make some friends. There is something pathetic about fleeing to a former patient who doesn’t even like him.  

Will stares blankly up at him as he repacks his belongings into his duffel bag with shaking hands. “I have to leave the country. I am leaving the country.”

“No. If you run you’ll look guilty.” Will’s voice is even and his eyes are uninterested. Again, Chilton thinks about the luxury of having actual friends who care about what happens to him, people he could trust and be trusted in return. Chilton has to admit, he doesn’t know what that would feel like. His last hope is staring up at him like he is watching a particularly uninteresting fly.

“You did not run and you looked plenty guilty. Abel Gideon was _half eaten_ in my guest room,” he says, his voice pitching upward with the hysteria he is trying to choke down. “I have corpses on my property. You just threw up an ear!”

“There’s an APB on you right now. They’ve canceled your credit cards, they’re tracing your phone.” None of this seems to perturb Will in the least bit. Of course, Will once went through what Chilton is going through. It must be a relief to see it happening to someone else instead.

“I have cash and I tossed my phone. Jack Crawford thinks I killed two agents- three agents. You know what tends to happen to people who do that?” He pauses dramatically. “Shoot on sight.” He can almost feel the bullet burrowing into the back of his skull, the same way he can still feel Hannibal’s hand pressing the rag full of chloroform into his mouth.

Will is silent for a moment, eyes flickering down before they land on him again. “I’m going to prove that Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“I know you will. And when you do, I will read about it from a secure location and I will reintroduce myself into society. At that time-” He cuts off, horror clawing in his stomach at the sound of Will’s dogs barking.

Will’s expression falters, brows drawing together.

“Did you call someone?” Chilton asks, eyes wide, hands clenching into fists by his sides.

“I nearly called Jack, but I decided against it.” He stands and glances out the window at the black car that’s pulling up. “He must have figured out you’d flee here.”

“What do I do?” Chilton asks, feeling numb with fear. His car is sitting out in the driveway, a flashing red light that is telling Jack, _“Frederick Chilton is here! Shoot him!”_

Will doesn’t respond for a few more moments, staring out at the car coming to a quick stop.

“Will,” Chilton whines.

“Follow me.” Will turns, and Chilton hurriedly picks up his bag and staggers after him, heart fluttering in his throat.

Hiding in a pantry from the FBI for murders he didn’t commit is another item to add to the list of ‘Activities I’d Never Thought I’d Do,’ and somehow, Chilton figures he’s got further to fall before any of this settles down.

Jack Crawford is loud and demanding, but his voice is muffled by the time it reaches Chilton’s ears. He strains to hear what is being said, but he cannot make out the words. Heavy footsteps stomp through the house and out the back door. The name that is shouted on the wind, he _does_ here, and it brings with it a chill.

Chilton has no idea how long the hunt for him out in the woods goes on, but his leg is starting to give out underneath him. There’s not enough room in the pantry for him to sit down, so he ends up leaning on the door and closing his eyes against the exhaustion seeping through his frame. He still fears Jack will end up searching Will’s house for him, but his adrenaline has worn out too much for him to brace himself for it.

Eventually, he hears footsteps coming back in from outside.

 “Dr. Chilton is not the Ripper, Jack. You know that. You’re wasting your energy in searching for Chilton. The real Chesapeake Ripper is playing you.”

“No, Will. He’s playing _you._ ”

Chilton hears a car pull away, and then there is dreadful silence.

Leaning against the pantry door is a bad idea, he quickly realizes, as it is swung open quickly and he loses his balance. Chilton topples forward as Will steps back, and the wood flooring is hard on his knees.

“Jack’s gone. You’re safe here,” Will says as Chilton pulls himself back to his feet, a process that is much more difficult with his throbbing leg and his exhausted body.

“I don’t know if safe is the right word,” Chilton grinds out, leaning heavily on the kitchen counter and gazing at the man who has just saved him from going to prison.

“Thank you,” he says softly, his shoulders dragging downwards.

Will gives a brisk nod, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t particularly like you, but you’re not the Ripper. Hannibal won’t expect us to be working together, which will give me more time to flush him out.”

Chilton can feel himself drooping against the counter.

There is an awkward pause. “You can use the guest bedroom upstairs.”

Chilton’s leg throbs in protest as he drags himself to the second floor, but when he lies down on the bed, it takes him seconds to fall into a deep sleep.

His sleep is blissfully dreamless, and when he wakes a good ten hours later, he feels as though he’s resurfaced after being submerged in a deep pool of water. He gasps and jolts upward in bed, eyes darting around in confusion before he remembers everything that happened the day before. He covers his face with his hands and tries to keep his breathing under control. The FBI haven’t caught him, and he isn’t Hannibal Lecter’s next meal. He may be a refuge in the house of the man who is courting the devil, but he is alive and not behind bars, which is what matters.

He allows himself a few more minutes in bed before he trudges down the stairs to find that Will has gone out for the day. There aren’t any cars in the driveway, meaning they must have impounded his car. The thought hurts more than it should, along with forcing him to realize how alone and stranded out here he really is. He shakes the thought off, knowing he’s lucky to be out of police custody.

Will’s dogs, all eight of them, are curious, sniffing at his pants and following him into the kitchen happily as he goes in search of something to alieve the dryness in his mouth. What he finds in the fridge really makes him wonder what it is Will actually eats. It’s startlingly bare, a few beers, a pack of soda, and some takeout leftovers that smells rancid. Looking back in the pantry that Chilton had hid in, there isn’t much more.

The other cupboards reveal a handful of canned foods and, best of all, a cupboard with whiskey and rum. Chilton pulls down a bottle that looks half-decent, finds a glass that looks clean enough, and pours himself a healthy amount. He settles down on the couch and stares at the dogs who are staring back at him, enjoying the burn on alcohol on his palate and the back of his throat.

After a while, the dogs decide that he’s not that interesting, and move on to do whatever it is dogs do during the day. Chilton wonders if he should let them out at any point, and when they get fed. Taking care of Will’s dogs is the least he can do, but he doesn’t want to do something wrong and risk Will’s wrath on behalf of his pack.

He ends up falling asleep on the couch with something mindless on the television, and it isn’t until much later that he awakens to the sound of the dogs barking. He jolts upwards as Will walks in through the front door, offering him nothing more than a simple nod as he kneels down to greet his dogs.

It goes like this for a good week, Will barely acknowledging Chilton other than a nod or a word here or there. Chilton has been living alone for years, but nothing has ever felt this stifling. It is the thought that he cannot go anywhere or talk to anyone that makes him feel trapped and so alone, especially when Will is there. The one person he can talk to wants nothing to do with him, and he makes that perfectly clear on a daily basis.

Frederick quickly learns how to take care of seven dogs, which gives him something to do. They eventually warm up to him, and the smallest one takes to sleeping curled up next to him at night (Chilton will never admit the comfort he finds in the small, furry creature). His only true companions are of the four-legged nature, and he can’t exactly hold a conversation with them. He wonders if his voice is going rusty from disuse.

Will brings home groceries every once in a while, and Chilton is pleased to see it’s all vegan-friendly, even if a bit inelegant. He discovers that Will doesn’t cook often, so he prepares what he can with the groceries offered, always leaving a foil-covered plate for Will when he eventually gets home. Will never mentions the food, but the plate is always gone in the morning.

Chilton starts singing during the day when he knows Will won’t be back until late. The dogs don’t seem to mind, and it lifts his spirits enough that he doesn’t drown in his own problems. It’s better than talking to the dogs, which he has stopped himself from doing far too often, and Chilton has always fancied himself a decent singer. Sometimes he even slips into Spanish, the language he saves for the rare calls from his sister and extended family.

The Spanish curls around his tongue in a way that English never could, as he leans into the open fridge with his scrub brush, intent on making it sparkle in a way it probably hasn’t in years. Cleaning is another activity that makes the encroaching darkness in his mind abate, blissfully repetitive and rewarding. Will’s house is really beginning to sparkle under the hands of Frederick Chilton.

He hits one of the more powerful notes, his voice echoing into the empty fridge. Leaning down is difficult with his bad leg, but he manages to get the bottom shelf clean with relatively little pain, and it’s worth it to see it shine. He is so focused on his task that he doesn’t hear the dogs clattering to the front door.

The sound of keys hitting the laminate counter he does hear, and it has him jolting and losing his balance, slamming his knee down on the edge of the fridge with a painful thump as his voice cuts off in a strangled yelp.

“Holy hell,” he curses, turning and staring wide-eyed at a bemused Will.

“You sing?” he asks, arms loose by his sides and staring at Chilton from behind his glasses. Curiosity makes his eye-contact steady.

Chilton climbs slowly to his feet, mortification heating his face. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Spanish? Are you fluent?” This is the most attention Will has given him since shoving him in the pantry nearly two weeks ago, and he flounders under it.

Chilton doesn’t respond, instead turning to close the fridge and stow the cleaning supplies back under the sink, feeling Will’s eyes burning the back of his head. He turns back around to face Will, desperately thinking of some way to gain control of the situation.

“I’m going to have to kill you now, Mr. Graham,” he says as seriously as he can manage with his ears still burning.

Will lets out a startled chuckle. “I can pretend I never heard anything, if you want.”

Chilton can’t help the small grin that stretches his mouth. “But, you see, we’d both know, and I just can’t live with that.”

“You were the one who was recklessly flaunting your secret abilities where anyone could walk in and hear.” He gestures at the dogs. “Have they been getting private performances?”

“They cannot speak, Will. And you weren’t supposed to be here.”

“I do live here, you know,” Will responds flatly.

“Yes, but it’s midday on a weekday. Aren’t you supposed to be out looking at dead bodies?”

Will shrugs, and that seems to break the strange spell they were under, as well as some of the tension that had been strung so tightly between them. Chilton reorganizes the fridge, grabbing a beer for himself and handing a second to Will, who accepts it with a small smile, having shed his coat and his shoes at the door.

Chilton settles on the couch, his furry friend automatically settling next to him and watches with a slowly dawning horror as Will sprawls on the other side of the couch, sipping nonchalantly at his beer. There’s an awful reality show playing that neither of them are really watching. Chilton is sitting somewhat stiffly, and he barely tastes the drink, focused entirely on the man sitting across the couch from him in this strange pantomime of domestic life.

“You actually, uh, sing very well,” Will says haltingly, disturbing the silence.

Chilton winces. “You’re supposed to forget you heard that.”

“I honestly don’t think I can,” Will responds, glancing at Chilton who is sending Will his best glare. “You were bent in half, cleaning my refrigerator while belting out what sounded like a Spanish ballad. An image like that _lingers_.”

“It was, admittedly, not one of my brightest moments.” Nothing like belting out his Broadway best into the fridge to make Will talk to him.

“Better than showing up at my door covered in blood,” Will offers. “And you sounded good. Did you ever take voice lessons?”

Chilton pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting off a headache that’s brewing in the corners of his head. “When I was a freshman in college, yes. Now can we please move on from this?”

“Which part of your family speaks Spanish?”

Chilton grits his teeth and wills away his frustration. This is development in his relationship with Will, and he should be eating it up.

“My mother’s side is Cuban. And yes, I am fluent.”

Will falls silent, gaze returning to the television, and Chilton thinks that’s the end of the conversation, until Will speaks softly.

“You don’t have to stop singing to the dogs on my account, you know.”

Chilton barely resists coughing up his mouthful of beer.

 

Something changes after that. Will speaks to Chilton on a daily basis, mostly small things, like asking him what he wants from the grocery store, or inquiring after the dogs, but it is a marked difference than the complete silence and avoidance of any eye contact. He even thanks Chilton for cleaning the house, which Chilton brushes off easily. After all, Will is harboring him from the FBI.

Chilton double-takes one evening when Will steps out of his bedroom with his hair neatly trimmed, wearing something other than plaid or denim.

Chilton himself is in a pair of cheap sweatpants and a flimsy t-shirt and feels very underdressed in comparison to this new Will.

“Meeting someone special?” he asks, and Will looks at him as if he forgot Chilton was even there.

“The devil himself,” Will responds, tugging on what looks to be a new jacket. Is that new aftershave Chilton smells?

For a terrible moment, Chilton imagines Will s _educing_ Hannibal Lecter, and the image is disturbing enough that he has to shake his head to clear it.

“Hannibal is singularly obsessed with me. I’m going to use that against him.”

Maybe Chilton wasn’t so far off the mark after all. “Does that involve seducing him?” he inquires softly.

Will closes his eyes. “Hannibal seeks to possess me in all ways he can. If I offer myself to him, I cannot imagine him declining.”

Bile rises in Chilton’s throat as he stands and moves to stare up at Will. “That is _not_ a safe plan. You cannot just give yourself to him, Will!”

Will’s gaze lands on him, and it is sharp. “I told you I would do everything in my power to stop Hannibal Lecter. This is part of that.”

“Will this really make it any easier?”

“Yes.”

For a moment, Chilton is unable to recognize the strange clawing in his stomach, until he realizes he is terrified for Will.

“Be careful,” he settles on, because there’s nothing else Will would expect from him.

“There’s no room for careful in this game, Doctor.”

And Chilton cannot argue with that. His concern is unwanted and unnecessary; Will is going to do what he needs to catch Hannibal and Chilton will be here, hoping that Will comes back unharmed.

With that, he sidesteps Chilton and heads out the door. Chilton is left alone with the dogs and his own spiraling thoughts.

 

This game goes on for the next few weeks. Chilton watches from his spot in the living room as Will comes out of his room primed for an evening with Hannibal Lecter, and each time he leaves the house, Chilton wonders if he’s going to come back. He admires Will’s perseverance and his willingness to put himself in the line of fire for the cause. Chilton worries about Will’s susceptibility to manipulation and the hold Lecter has over him, but he trusts Will to get the retribution he deserves from Lecter.

One evening, Chilton finds himself staring at the clock as it ticks steadily past the time Will is usually home, feeling his apprehension rise. He knows Will is fully capable, and is, in fact, his own man, but somehow the image of him being brutally murdered by Lecter won’t leave his mind. And being killed by Lecter isn’t even the worst thing that could happen to him.

Frederick tries to sleep, but it’s the utter silence in the house that keeps him up. The dogs are most likely curled up on Will’s empty bed, waiting for his return just like Chilton is, and that’s when he forgoes sleep entirely, trudging down the stairs to settle on the couch. He turns on the television, mostly as background noise, and lets his thoughts wander to Will Graham.

Somehow, in the few weeks Chilton has been living as a fugitive in Will’s house, his fascination for the man has become something different. When Will had been his patient at the hospital, Chilton had coveted him, desiring the recognition studying Will’s mind would give him. Now that he is living in Will’s home, seeing him daily in a domestic setting, Chilton finds that the fascination over Will’s mind is becoming one of Will himself; his personality, his dry sense of humor, his propensity for collecting strays. Frederick finds that he _likes_ Will, which is a little startling considering how their relationship started out.

The dogs start barking three hours after Will was supposed to be home, and peering out the window, Chilton sees Will’s car and lets out a small sigh of relief before settling back on the couch.

Chilton can tell something is wrong the moment Will opens the door. He doesn’t even acknowledge the dogs, and his gaze is strangely blank, his hair disheveled. He doesn’t seem to notice Chilton sitting on the couch as he closes the door and hunches his shoulders, with his eyes closed and his mouth a tight line. The dogs are circling him and whining, able to sense Will’s strange mood, though their owner doesn’t take in their behavior.

His breathing is harsh and his hands are clenched at his sides.

Chilton stands and slowly makes his way to Will, not wanting to spook him. “Will?”

Will’s eyes snap open and land on Frederick, his frame stiffening.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine,” he grinds out, pushing past Chilton to get to his bedroom. His voice is strangled.

Chilton turns to watch him escape the room, wondering what exactly befell him during his appointment with Lecter. Chilton has a chilling suspicion, and it pushes him to follow Will. The door is closed, but Chilton can hear Will’s gasping breaths from behind the door.

“Will? Let me help you.”

“You can’t help.” The tone is condescending, but Will is lashing out in his pain and fear.

“Do you at least want to tell me what happened?”

“Go away, Frederick.”

Chilton waits outside the door until he can hear Will’s breathing settle, and then he gives up, heading up to the guest bedroom to lay in the darkness and worry about Will Graham.

 

The next morning, Will acts as though the night before never happened, fixing his coffee in silence and getting ready for a day of trying to catch Hannibal Lecter. Chilton sits at the kitchen table and watches him, noting the sliver of tension in his shoulders and the way he is distinctly avoiding even glancing at Chilton. It’s like they’re back at square one, during the first week of their forced cohabitation when Will pretended Chilton was a piece of furniture rather than another human being. Only this time, Chilton knows what it is to be in Will’s favor, and he doesn’t like what this silence means.

Will leaves before Chilton works up the nerve to say anything, and he’s left sitting there as Will’s dogs come back to watch him eat his disappointing breakfast of off-brand oatmeal. He lets them out before heading upstairs to take a shower.

He distracts himself with cleaning the bathrooms, not stopping until his knees are sore and the tiles are sparkling. When he’s finished with that, he flounders, staring into the spotless bathroom in helplessness.

The feeling is beginning to seep into his bones, threatening to drown him. The Chesapeake Ripper is out there, and there is only Will Graham who knows the truth and is working to stop him, and Will is not the most stable of individuals. Chilton wishes there was some way he could help, but he is stuck in this godforsaken house in the middle of nowhere, completely at the mercy of Will and Hannibal, who circle around each other in a tight orbit of manipulation and lies. Chilton knows they are leagues above him, and that if he were to be thrown into their game, he would lose. He just wishes there was something he could do other than hiding fearfully in Will’s basement (the house doesn’t actually have a basement, but Chilton certainly feels like he’s been in one for weeks).

Will is late again that night, and Chilton parks himself on the sofa to wait for him to return, both for his sake and for Will’s. Perhaps knowing that Frederick is waiting up on him will do just a little for his state of mind, as shaken as it is.

Will enters even later than he had the night previously, and this time he looks even worse-for-wear. He doesn’t pause at the door, instead giving Chilton no more than a glance as he hurries to his bedroom and shuts the door firmly behind him. Chilton wants to follow him, offer more comfort, but he knows he will be brushed off. The closed door is a good enough indication that Will wants to be left alone.

Chilton wakes up with a terrible crick in his neck and a throbbing in his leg and blinks up at the living room ceiling. Glancing around, he realizes that he must have fallen asleep on the couch. Will’s bedroom door is still closed and the house is silent. The clock on the mantel reads ten in the morning, late for either of them to be sleeping.

He gingerly rises to his feet, wincing at the soreness of a night on a sofa not meant to be slept on, and makes his way to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. It’s more for Will’s sake than his, but he finds the scent comforting as if fills the house. The dogs come out to greet him, which is strange, considering Will usually allows them in his room at night. Chilton lets them out and feeds them, unable to keep himself from watching Will’s door and wondering if the man is alright.

It’s past eleven when Will finally steps out from the darkness of his bedroom. He’s in his usual ratty t-shirt and has thrown on a pair of sleep pants, his hair a mess and his face pale. Chilton wordlessly hands him a mug of coffee fixed the way Chilton knows Will drinks it, which he accepts silently.

That’s when Frederick sees the rings of purple bruises around Will’s wrist.

“Will, what happened?” he asks softly, voice low and eyes taking in Will’s shuttered expression.

Will shrugs, leaning down to give Winston a scratch behind the ears, and Chilton can see the bruising on his other wrist as well. Chilton leans forward, and in one quick move, has grabbed Will’s hand and lifted his wrist to the light.

Will is frozen in astonishment long enough for Chilton to confirm that the bruising is from someone’s hand, before he yanks it away with his mouth twisted in a snarl he isn’t quick enough to quell.

“Is Hannibal hurting you, Will?” he asks firmly.

Will huffs out a tight breath. “My plan is working, okay? He thinks he’s succeeded in turning me into a killer who’s on his side.”

“He thinks you are on his side, and he repays you with abuse?”

Will’s eyes narrow. “This isn’t about you, okay, Frederick? I’m going to stop Hannibal, and if this is the way I have to do it, I’ll deal with it.”

Frederick reaches out and puts a hand on Will’s shoulder, which seems to startle Will. “Will, listen. I am not going to talk you out of whatever plan you have to stop Lecter. You are much braver than I when it comes to putting yourself in the line of fire to capture him.”

The tension leaks out of Will’s frame, leaving an exhausted tilt to his shoulders as he stares down at their feet. “Your skills as my psychiatrist were lacking, Frederick.”

Chilton allows a wry smile to grace his mouth. “Yes, well, at least I don’t eat people and hide encephalitis diagnoses from you.” Chilton’s gaze drags across Will’s face. “And I would like to think my concern comes as that of your friend, instead of your psychiatrist.”

Will looks up at him with eyebrows drawn together. “Are you really my friend, Frederick? After everything?”

“I am your friend _because_ of everything. It really seems like you need one.”

Will stares down at him with an unreadable expression before it relaxes into something much calmer. “What you mean is that I need a friend who isn’t Hannibal Lecter.”

“I thought that was fairly obvious.”

 

Will opens up even more after that, speaking to Chilton about the terrible things he has witnessed in Hannibal’s orbit, even touching lightly on the way his mind used to feel as though it were bleeding outward, making Will lose touch with himself. Will is reluctant at first, but Chilton tries to treat him differently than he would a patient, keeping the psychological jargon as far away as he possibly can. Will Graham has been lacking in people who will listen to him without an ulterior motive, who tell the truth. Will knows Chilton has nothing to gain now by lying.

He tells Chilton he may have been in love with Hannibal, and how, even now, Hannibal evokes powerful emotion in Will, emotion that Will isn’t sure he understands.

“I know I don’t love him, how can I? I know he still has a hold on me, one way or another.”

They are sitting on the couch on opposite ends and Will’s sock-clad feet are up on the coffee table, while Chilton’s are thrown up on the cushion between them. The evening sun is slanting through the windows, giving the room a warm glow, and Chilton feels comfortable in a way he hasn’t in weeks. Chilton takes a moment to process this new information from Will, though it is not particularly surprising given what he knows about the two of them.

“Do you think he loves you?”

Will considers this for a moment. “A man like Hannibal doesn’t experience love the way anyone else does. He covets and obsesses, both of which he fancies he can control. He’s obsessed with me and thinks I’m worth the risk he’s making.”

Chilton can’t help thinking that Will _is_ worth the risk, and the thought brings him up short. What is he even thinking?

Chilton’s eyes land on the pink curve of Will’s mouth and the dark stubble on his jaw, and he swallows.

Chilton looks away from Will and jolts up from the couch, making up an excuse he doesn’t give any thought to and retreating to the guest bedroom without looking behind him. Once behind the closed door, he sits heavily on the edge of the quilted comforter and hides his face in his hands.

He is attracted to and emotionally invested in Will Graham, hiding in his guest room like the emotionally stunted loser he truly is.

If the situation wasn’t so pathetic, it might actually be comical. For a moment, Frederick entertains the possibility that this is a symptom of Will being the only human contact he’s had in weeks, but then he thinks back to all of their interaction before he showed up on Will’s porch covered in blood. From the very beginning there was something about Will that Chilton was drawn to, and he might have thought of it as medical curiosity, which some part of it was, but now he recognizes that it was also interest of a much different type. Living in the same house as him has only solidified the attraction Chilton already felt, and to make it even worse, it’s not just attraction anymore, but something deeper and more dangerous.

Will doesn’t come up and find him, and Chilton is grateful for that. He needs time to get himself under control before he faces Will again. He needs to tamp this down before it gets any worse.

The thought of Lecter putting his hands all over Will makes Chilton’s blood boil. He has seen what it does to Will and there’s nothing he can do about it. Lecter needs to be caught, and Will is the only one who has the power to outsmart him.

There is a scratching at his door and he walks over to open it, allowing the small furry Buster to streak through and curl up on his bed. “Hey there, buddy,” he says, walking over and scratching the dog behind the ears. He thinks about the simplemindedness of the canine and wonders what it would be like to live like them, worrying about nothing but the simplicities of life.

Frederick shakes his head, knowing it’s bad when he’s envious of a dog. He lies down next to the little mutt, closing his eyes and clearing his head of the strangeness that his life had become. There’s a game of cat and mouse being played over his head by two extremely dangerous men who hold others’ lives in the balance, and he has somehow formed emotional attachments to the more vulnerable of the two.

Chilton is pretty sure this says something about his own personality flaws, but he’s unwilling to look too deeply into himself. Self-diagnosis, he has never been a fan of. Lying on the soft bed with Buster curled up next to him, Chilton drifts off.

_The house is quiet, the dogs nowhere to be seen, and the light slanting in through the windows casts deep shadows through the living room. Chilton stands in the middle of the room with a dawning sense of horror he doesn’t know the cause of. There is something he should know, something he should be worried about, but he can’t wrap his mind around it._

_The sun shining on his face is cold and the light does nothing but blind him to the rest of the room. When he blinks the spots out of his eyes, there is a darkened figure standing in front of him._

_Chilton yelps and jumps back, but his leg doesn’t support him and it sends him collapsing down onto the floor. The figure steps forward into the shaft of light, illuminating his face in terrible angles._

_Hannibal Lecter is standing over him, face devoid of human emotion._

_“Hello, Frederick.”_

_This has happened before, but it doesn’t make it any less terrifying, especially with the knowledge that Hannibal is most likely going to kill him brutally. The light glares off of the plastic suit, giving off the illusion of an angel wrapped in light, when Chilton knows the man in front of him is the exact opposite._

_“What do you want, Dr. Lecter?” Chilton asks, his voice thin and wavering._

_“Will Graham is mine, Frederick.”_

_Does Hannibal’s tone of voice ever change from one of calm disinterest?_

_“Will deserves much more than being owned by you,” Chilton bites out, fighting to find his backbone even though he knows his last moments are approaching fast._

_Hannibal leans over and presses a foot down on Chilton’s bad leg, forcing a gasp from Frederick’s lungs._

_“You think you can provide that for him? You think you are worth anything at all to Will? To anyone?”_

_“Will deserves more than you. I said nothing about taking your place.” He hisses when Lecter presses more of his weight down._

_“You desire him. Do not try to hide this from me.”_

_Chilton spots the shine of a knife clutched in Hannibal’s right hand and swallows, feeling cold sweat beginning to dot his brow._

_“My desire won’t destroy him.”_

_Hannibal steps down hard enough that Chilton feels something snap and the pain drives a cry from his mouth._

_“Of course it won’t. There will be no chance of Will finding out.”_

_Hannibal strikes quickly, his knife plunging into Chilton’s thigh like liquid fire and his hand closing tightly around Chilton’s throat. Hannibal uses the hand on his throat to hold him in place as he makes calculated slices with the knife, not giving Chilton enough air to scream. He struggles, but it is not enough. Hannibal is pressing all of his weight down on the much smaller doctor, and there is nothing Chilton can do but lie helpless under Hannibal’s butchering knife._

_He thinks of Will in that moment and hopes that he gets free of Hannibal’s grasp. Will deserves that much. Chilton just wishes he could be there to see it._

“Frederick!” There is the sound of a fist on the wood of a door.

He wakes just as Will is opening the bedroom door, and for a moment, he is still under Hannibal’s cruel knife.

Will must see the terror in his eyes, because he risks coming into the bedroom, moving close enough that he could reach out and touch the edge of the bed. Chilton now realizes he was having a nightmare, but his heart is still beating fast and his breath is still coming quickly. He scrubs a hand over his face and sits up in bed, noticing that Buster is no longer in the room.

“Nightmare,” he breathes, trying to shake off the feeling of Lecter’s hand closing around his throat.

“Is this your first nightmare since Hannibal was in your house?”

Chilton glances up at Will who is staring somewhere past his shoulder, brows lowered.

“Uh, no,” Chilton responds with a shake of his head. “This one was the most realistic, though.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Will asks as he rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably.

He knows Will has had problems with nightmares and hallucinations and he wonders if this is some way of Will trying to offer _comfort._

Chilton considers what his subconscious is truly worried about, and stifles a wince. Somehow that involved Hannibal killing him in a possessive rage, and Frederick feels that’s not really something to share with Will.

Chilton shrugs. “It was painfully predictable. Hannibal found me here.”

Will nods, and in a shocking movement, sits down on the edge of the bed, close to Frederick’s feet. “You know, Hannibal doesn’t have use of you anymore. You’ve served your worth as his scapegoat. I doubt he’d waste energy coming after you, even if he did know where you were, which he doesn’t.”

“Hannibal Lecter knows everything.”

Chilton is highly aware of their proximity and the fact that his hair is probably rumpled from sleep, a look that Will can pull off but only makes Chilton look sick. Now that Chilton is aware of his own feelings, he is even more aware of Will.

“He doesn’t know you’re here. He thinks you somehow managed to escape the country, but he’s barely sparing you any thought. You’re safe from him.”

“A small comfort,” Chilton says. “But thank you.”

Will offers a smile that isn’t much more than a turning up of the sides of his mouth, but he makes eye contact, which means so much more.

“Hannibal fills my sleeping and waking hours. I know what it’s like to feel as if he lurks behind every door and corner, to feel him in my mind even when he’s not around.”

“Do you think you’ll ever rid yourself of him?” Chilton asks.

Will breaks eye contact, looking down at his hands resting in his lap. “Separating my mind from Hannibal’s influences is difficult. Sometimes I feel like one of his limbs that he uses with calculated accuracy and knows intimately, entirely under his control. But ever since getting out of the hospital, I am starting to learn myself again, and with that, am learning to evict Hannibal from my mind.”

Chilton breathes out steadily. “You do not have to do that alone.”

Will looks up at him sharply, assessing. It is strange to have Will’s gaze so intent on his face.

“Why did you leave, earlier?” Will asks.

Frederick was so sure Will was going to let that drop. He doesn’t even remember what he said to Will when he left, which really doesn’t help with his reasoning now. “Sometimes we all need alone time.”

“You get the house to yourself when I’m out, which is fairly often.”

“You have problems enough of your own, Will. Do you really want to hear about mine?”

Will’s hair hasn’t been styled today, ruffled and far too attractive. He’s not wearing his glasses and his blue plaid shirt makes his eyes a bright, piercing blue.

“They’d be a welcome distraction.”

At the look Will is giving him, he entertains the possibility of giving in to his desires, of leaning forward and closing the distance between them. Will’s expression is soft and his gaze pins Chilton in place, and he can almost believe that Will feels the same way, can almost believe that everything would be okay if he were to allow himself to fall.

Will is staring at his mouth.

Will’s hand settles on the nape of Frederick’s neck, hot and secure, and when Will pulls him forward, Frederick doesn’t resist.

Chilton’s eyes flutter shut as their lips meet. Will’s mouth is soft and hot against his own and the scent of his cheap aftershave fills Chilton’s nose. The kiss is gentler that Frederick would have expected it to be, like easing into a pool of warm water until comfortably submerged. Will’s stubble scratches against his face as the angle of the kiss changes and deepens, a pleasant burn that reminds Frederick just who it is he’s kissing, and his previously limp arms find their way around Will’s neck. The hand Will has on the back of Chilton’s neck drifts up into his hair, twisting and tightening in it until Frederick gasps into Will’s mouth.

Their angle on the bed is awkward until Will shifts forward, pushing Frederick down onto the mattress with his right hand still cradling the back of Frederick’s skull. His other hand presses into the bed by Chilton’s head as he settles his weight over Chilton’s frame, slotting a thigh between Chilton’s legs.

By the time the kiss breaks, they are both panting, their noses nearly brushing as they assess each other. Will’s mouth is red from the kiss and his expression softer than Chilton’s ever seen it.

“Will,” Frederick breathes. “Is this is a good idea?” There are many reasons they shouldn’t be doing this, but they are difficult to think about with the heat of Will’s body along his front.

Will rests his forehead against Chilton’s, and Chilton has to focus on his breathing to keep it from hitching at the tenderness of the action. “Do you know what having you here has done for me, Frederick? You’re my anchor to reality in a swirl of colors and feelings that risk sending me adrift.”

Frederick slides his hand through the soft curls at the nape of Will’s neck, watching Will’s eyes for any nuances in his expression, caught by their brightness in the nearness of their faces. “Should you really be falling into bed with your only anchor to reality?”

“I think it’s a much better idea than falling in bed with Hannibal Lecter.” Will presses upward with the thigh he has slotted between Chilton’s, gaze darkening at the gasp this elicits.

Frederick has to work to speak clearly through the haze of desire and the feeling of Will’s breath against his mouth. “There are many ideas better than falling in bed with Hannibal Lecter. I do not think that should be the deciding factor.”

Will brushes a thumb along Frederick’s cheekbone, his eyes tracking the movement. “Is it not enough that I’ve wanted this since I walked in on you singing in the kitchen?”

This is a surprising new piece of information to take in, one that makes his face heat. “You liked the singing that much?”

“Your voice is nice, but it was catching you vulnerable that did it. Suddenly, I was seeing you through new eyes. You are infuriating, Frederick.”

Chilton doesn’t mention how infuriating he finds Will.

“I have always been fascinated by you, Will Graham, but I like the Will I see here in this house more than the one I knew before.” Chilton slides his hand off of Will’s shoulders so that it is resting on the small of Will’s plaid-covered back. “I want to know you, Will. I want to be here for you, and to give you what you need.”

“Right now, I need you.”

There is little movement required for their mouths to slot together, a contact of slick heat that has Chilton melting back into the mattress. Chilton gives himself over to the sensations, and it is like finally letting go of the tree branch and letting the current wash him over the waterfall.

Will’s hands are hot as they skate over his frame, grasping at Frederick’s shoulders, moving to his neck, sliding down the side of his waist. They don’t remain anywhere long, as if Will is trying to catalogue all of Chilton by touch as they learn the inside of each’s other’s mouths. When Will’s fingers skate under the bottom of Chilton’s shirt and brush bare skin, Frederick pulls away from the kiss and shoves at Will’s shoulders.

“Up. Up. I can’t get this off with you lying on me.”

Will obliges, sitting back on his haunches with a smirk twisting his mouth, and they both rid themselves of their shirts. Chilton’s sweatpants come off in one easy tug, leaving him in nothing but his black briefs. The button on Will’s jeans seems to be giving him trouble, so Frederick leans over, pushing Will’s hands out of the way and looking up into the man’s heated gaze as he unfastens them. Will’s kicks them off his legs, shifting his weight forward to straddle Chilton’s thighs.

Frederick notices how Will remembers to keep most of his weight off of Chilton’s bad leg, and he feels a rush of affection for the man above him.

Will leans in, and his mouth traces a hot path down the side of Frederick’s jaw until he finds a spot under Chilton’s ear that makes him gasp and arch upward.

Will groans into the side of Chilton’s neck. “What do you want?” he breathes. “Anything.”

Chilton’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. “I want you to fuck me, Will.” Just the image that brings makes Frederick’s breath come faster.

Will tilts forward at that, balance momentarily lost, a groan escaping from his lips. “God, Frederick. Yes.”

Will pushes Chilton back down and hovers over him a moment, taking in Chilton’s disheveled form, before he leans down and his mouth closes over a nipple. Will works his mouth over both of them enough that Chilton is a panting mess, hands grasping tightly on broad shoulders and teeth snagging on his bottom lip.

Will mouths downward, and in a move that catches Chilton off guard, swipes the flat of his tongue along the vertical scar on Chilton’s stomach. Frederick’s teeth tighten on his lip enough that it stings to keep from making an overly-embarrassing noise at the sight and feel of it.

And then Will hooks his fingers in the waistband of Chilton’s underwear and peers up at him through dark lashes.

Chilton nods tightly, not trusting his voice, and Will slides the black briefs off in one smooth motion, exposing Frederick to the cool air of the bedroom.

The open air is quickly replaced by the wet heat of Will’s mouth, and Frederick’s jaw falls open and his arms flatten by his sides so he can grasp the comforter in his fists. Will’s mouth is _perfect_ , and it takes everything Chilton has not to buck up into the suction. Will places an anchoring hand on Frederick’s hip, holding him in place as his mouth slowly unravels the psychiatrist.

“Oh god, _Will_.”

Frederick’s eyes are closed when he hears the sound of a top being opened, and he has enough time to wonder where Will got the lube, before a slick finger is pushing inside of him.

Will keeps Frederick’s length in his mouth the whole time he works him open thoroughly, and by the time he pulls his fingers and mouth away, Chilton is a panting mess.

“Please, Will,” he gasps, and Will leans forward to kiss him softly before he tears open a condom and rolls it onto himself and quickly slicks himself up.

“What position would be the most comfortable for you?” Will asks.

Chilton blinks up at him, trying to form a coherent thought. “I want to see you,” he says, and then pulls his knees up so that his feet are flat on the mattress and there is enough room between his legs for Will to settle. “Like this.”

Will smiles and shifts so that he is kneeling between Chilton’s legs. They both gasp as Will pushes inside of him.

Chilton arches his back at the burning, stretching sensation and reaches out to grasp at Will’s shoulders.

Will’s face is screwed up in overwhelming pleasure as they both adjust to the sensations. After a few moments that seem more like a small eternity to Frederick, Will asks in a tight voice, “Okay?”

“Yes,” he manages, and he barely recognizes his own voice, as wrecked as it is.

Will begins to move and Frederick buries his face in Will’s shoulder, a whine deep in his throat. It’s been a long time since Frederick has done anything like this, and with the way Will is shaking, he has to wonder how long it’s been for him.  

“Frederick, you feel so good.”

Will changes his angle just so and hits the spot that makes stars flash behind Frederick’s eyes and his toes curl in the sheets. He tosses his head back and lets out a strangled keening sound.

“You should see yourself,” Will breathes into Frederick’s bared throat, and then his teeth scrape lightly over the same spot. “You’re stunning.” Frederick doesn’t think that there’s anything more beautiful than Will at that moment, his curls damp with sweat and his eyebrows lowered in pleasure.

When Will comes, it is with his face pressed into the crook of Frederick’s neck, and the strangled groan he makes, in combination with the hand he has curled around Frederick’s length, are enough to have Chilton following him right over the edge.

They lay there like that for a few moments, breath heavy as they regain their senses. Will pulls out of him gently, disposing of the condom and then settling next to him and laying his head on Frederick’s shoulder.

“Do you have any notes, Doctor?” he asks with a smile in his voice.

Chilton tilts his head so his chin is resting on Will’s curls. “I think we made a breakthrough today. If we continue along like this, we are on the way to really improving our lives.”

Will’s fingers begin tracing a pattern across Frederick’s stomach, ghosting gently over the pink scar there. “There’s no way to tell that this wasn’t a fluke unless we participate in multiple trials,” he says softly, and a smile splits Chilton’s face.

“Oh, of course there will have to be more than one trial.”

Will props himself up on an elbow so he can lean down and kiss him softly. The kiss feels like a promise between them, and the beginning of something good in their lives filled with cruelty and evil.

 

When Chilton wakes in the morning, he is in the bed alone. Sunlight is already spilling through the windows, and when he glances at the clock, he sees he has slept later than usual. He stretches, wincing at the soreness in places that haven’t been sore in a long time, and slowly makes his way to the bathroom for a long, hot shower.

He worries that the night before will settle between the two of them uneasily, but when he finally gets downstairs, hair damp and feeling much more awake, Will is already gone. There is a pot of coffee waiting for him, which makes a smile curve his mouth as he fixes himself a cup and adds a dash of creamer. Will’s coffee is nowhere near the quality of what Chilton used to enjoy drinking, but the taste of the weak coffee is welcoming this morning; this morning it tastes like contentment and affection.

Chilton shakes his head at the overly-sentimental thoughts and lets the dogs out. As he stands there and watches the dogs sniffing and loping in the yard, he turns his face up to the weak sun and enjoys the warmth on his face. He may have been pale before, but he’s certain the weeks of being a shut-in are not helping in the least. It is staring across the expanse of Will’s yard that Frederick wonders if Hannibal can truly be caught. He can’t stay in Will’s house forever, a thought which leads him back to his half-formed plans of escaping from the country. Now that the search for him has cooled somewhat, he imagines it wouldn’t be as dangerous as it would have been that fateful day he had showed up at Will’s doorstep covered in blood.

He knows now that had Will not taken him in, he would have been caught and locked up.

Frederick trusts Will, but he can’t help but think that Lecter has the skill to one-up the empath, even with all that Will’s putting into catching him. Lecter always has something up his sleeve to keep out of reach of the FBI. Hannibal may have an obsession with Will, but Chilton bets his good leg that Hannibal cares too much about himself to keep from harming or killing Will if it assists his own escape.

This thought worries Chilton, especially when noting how careless Will can be with his own wellbeing. Chilton is useless out here on Will’s property, with no way to help other than be a mediocre sort of emotional support that Will didn’t ask for.

The dogs come back inside when he calls them, and he attempts to reign in the dark spiral of his thoughts. It’s much easier to do while he’s on the couch and there is a dog in his lap, he finds.

The good mood from that morning lasts until Will fails to come home on time, and he is left sitting on the living room couch, fingers carding through the soft fur of the dog curled up next to him in an attempt to calm the nerves running like electricity under his skin. He hated sitting in the dark. He hates that Will is out there in danger and he is sitting here like the worried wife, praying that their husband comes back from the war unharmed.

Frederick should probably lay off the figurative language if he’s starting to imagine himself as Will’s lovely, stay-at-home wife. The dogs creep around him and eye him as though they can sense his mood or can sense that they should be worried that their owner is missing.

It is strange how Frederick has stopped worrying too much about his own wellbeing as much as he worries about Will. He feels cut off from reality hiding out here in Wolf Trap. It is hard to imagine trouble befalling him, but it is very easy to imagine Will getting into trouble, courting the devil as he is. Frederick wonders if he would put himself in danger for Will, if given the chance, and with a startling sort of clarity, he realizes he would.

Frederick had never thought of himself as a person who would ever fall in love with someone, and even when he did entertain the possibility, he was never able to come up with the type of person he could fall in love with. Chilton had never considered putting himself in danger for someone, either.

Frederick nearly jumps out of his skin when the front door is thrown open. For a split second he imagines it to be Hannibal or the police, but the moment passes as Will closes the door behind himself.

His hands are shaking.

Frederick doesn’t hesitate, standing up and crossing to where Will is standing as Will turns to face him. Chilton’s eyes immediately land on the split lip Will is sporting, as well as the bruise that is darkening on his eye.

“Oh my god, Will what happened?” he breathes, hand moving up hesitantly to brush Will’s jaw. When Will leans into the contact, Chilton brings up his other hand to cup the side of Will’s face and watches as Will’s eyelids flutter.

Will breathes in shakily. “I should have known this would happen.”

Chilton leads Will across the room, pulling him down gently onto the couch. He doesn’t resist.

“Did Hannibal do this to you, Will?” he asks even though he knows the answer, tracing his thumb softly over the bottom curve of Will’s lip.

“Yes.”

“Why?” It seems below Lecter to bestow this sort of petty abuse. Hannibal has cooked the organs of abusers happily, for him to become one doesn’t seem quite right.

Will reaches up and grasps Frederick’s wrist, pulling it down from his face to lace their fingers together. His eyes are downcast, looking at their interlaced fingers. “Hannibal Lecter has the most refined sense of smell I have ever come across.”

Frederick’s mouth goes dry at the implications of this statement, but he lets Will continue in his own time.

Will visibly swallows and glances up at him. “He could smell your aftershave on me, Frederick, and he _knew._ ”

“Dear God,” Frederick breathes, eyes widening. Hannibal knows that he is here, hiding in Will’s house. There’s a chance Hannibal knows what they did last night. “Did you shower this morning?” he asks instead of the string of curses floating in the forefront of his mind.

Will nods. “I was even wearing my own aftershave, but Hannibal could smell my encephalitis before, which means it was _easy_ for him to pick out your scent.”

“What did he say?”

Will recounts how Hannibal leaned in to kiss him, only to pause and ask Will if there was something Will wasn’t telling him. Will had played dumb until Hannibal had struck him and demanded to know why he smelled of Frederick Chilton.

“His anger rarely gets the better of him. Hannibal likes to think he has control over his emotions, but I’ve always been his exception.” Will squeezes Frederick’s hand. “He told me he had known I had a penchant for taking in strays, but hadn’t expected this.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him you were nothing more than entertainment. Something to pass the time.”

“Did he believe you?”

Will pauses, and Chilton can see that he is dithering on the sentence that sits on the tip of his tongue. Finally he settles on, “I don’t think he’s going to bother you. Like I said before, he thinks you’re beneath him, not worthy of his time and effort.”

Frederick is not entirely convinced, to say the least, considering Hannibal kills men he thinks of as pigs, but he knows better than to argue at this moment.

“Are you okay, Will?”

“I think so. Hannibal believes that I’m like him, and I don’t think it will be long before he makes a misstep in front of me, and then it’ll all be over.”

Frederick looks Will in the eyes, and says softly, “You need to come out of this alive, Will.”

Will leans forward and kisses him softly. “I’ll do my best.”

Frederick believes him.

 

Frederick keeps worrying that there will be a night that Will just won’t come home. Will tells Frederick all of his plan one evening, describing the fake murder he is going to stage using Freddie Lounds and a cadaver that looks enough like her to work. Jack Crawford has been convinced that Hannibal is the killer, but they need solid proof so that they can book him. Will is certain that pretending to kill Freddie Lounds will be enough to convince Hannibal to trust him completely, while saving her life along the way.

Chilton has functioned on a buzz of anxiety for the past week, especially when he knows only what Will tells him and what comes on the news. He wishes he was part of the action, wishes he could help in some way other than being the one Will comes home to. They now share a bed every night, on the condition that Chilton no longer wears his aftershave, and that Will washes himself in citrus body wash to mask the scent. It will be enough to make sure that Hannibal isn’t aware that they’re having sex consistently. Will is keeping with the story that Chilton is entertaining and was good for one lay. Frederick doesn’t mind that Hannibal thinks him some sort of slave if it keeps Will safe.

And then one day, Chilton’s fears come true. Will doesn’t come home, and no amount of pacing the living room and watching the news and feeding the dogs will inform Chilton as to what happened to him. He spends the first night staring at the clock and out at the driveway in equal intervals, and then the next day pacing and keeping the news turned on high enough that he can hear it anywhere on the bottom floor. He dozes, the second night, but is too high-strung to actually fall asleep for more than an hour at a time.

It is early the next morning that there is news of Hannibal Lecter, that he has been identified and has admitted to being the Chesapeake Ripper, and that he is currently in police custody. The news sends a thrill through him and a fierce pride for Will’s success, though the feelings are muted by Chilton’s worry.

They don’t mention Will, or any details of the capture and arrest, and it has him hurling a throw pillow at the screen with a frustrated growl. The pretty blond running the story promises more news at eight, and Chilton prepares himself for a full day of waiting in the dark for information.

He sits on the front porch, watching as the dogs romp through the field, unaware of the possibility that their owner might be injured or dead.

When the small black car turns down Will’s driveway, Chilton doesn’t bother hiding, waiting on the porch in the bright afternoon sunlight as the car comes to a stop not far away from him.

Freddie Lounds steps out of the car, and his heart lurches. Freddie will know what happened to Will, he is sure of it.

“Hello, Dr. Chilton,” she says, her heels crunching against the gravel of Will’s driveway, clutching her purse in front of one of her usual elaborate outfits that clashes terribly with her red curls.

“How was being dead?” he asks her, not bothering to stand up from the steps. He is desperate for information, but he knows she’ll tell him in her own time. For all the innocence her bright blue eyes seem to project, she is ruthless and cunning and not to be trifled with.

“Not as fun as you’d imagine, although I’m sure you have some idea of that.” She gives Will’s house a meaningful look that Frederick chooses to ignore.

“Why are you here, Miss Lounds?”

A smile twists her cupid-bow lips. “I’m here to bring you to Will Graham.”

He does rise to his feet at that, the stiffness in his legs not registering as he moves to stand in front of the journalist. “He’s alive,” he breathes, hope fluttering in his chest like a trapped insect.

“Yes. Hannibal did a good job of opening his stomach, but he’s alive. He just woke up and his first request was for you.”

Frederick is lightheaded with the knowledge. He wants to cry, but there is a numbness in his face and fingers that keeps him from reacting that way.

“Come on, get yourself together,” Freddie prompts, leaning down to offer love to the dogs sniffing curiously at her legs.

Frederick shakes himself out of the stupor, calling the dogs inside and moves up to throw on a pair of Will’s jeans and one of his less exciting shirts. They don’t fit perfectly, but the few pairs of clothes he brought with him aren’t clean or suitable to wear in public. It’s all a little loose on him, but at this moment, Frederick has more important things to worry about.

Freddie is standing in the living room when Chilton comes back down, reading the spines of the books on Will’s shelves. If Freddie wasn’t his only ride to the hospital where Will is staying, he would be more protective of Will’s home in the face of the bloodthirsty journalist.

She turns and smiles when she spots what he’s wearing. “I wasn’t sure if you two were an item, but now I know for certain.”

“You’re going to write about all this, aren’t you?”

After Chilton pulls on his coat, Freddie leads them both out to her car. “I might.”

It’s strange, being in a car after so long, watching as Will’s house shrinks behind them like a boat disappearing over the horizon of green waters. Frederick is a free man now, and he can’t help but wonder what that will do to his relationship with Will, if without the connection forcing them together, their relationship will dwindle and fade.

Chilton makes himself think of something else, something more cheerful. Hannibal Lecter is behind bars, and that means that neither Will nor Chilton are under his control any longer. They are free men.

The drive to the hospital where Will is staying is long, and though Freddie tries to ask him questions, she quickly finds that Frederick is in no mood to give her answers. Most of the ride is spent in contemplative silence.

When they arrive at the hospital, the light is bleeding out of the sky and the air has lost the warmth of the sun. Freddie follows him as far as the waiting room, but she leaves him to check in, plopping in a chair and pulling out her phone to wait for him.

Will’s room is on the fourth floor, and when Chilton finally gets there, he finds Jack Crawford standing outside the door with a weary expression on his face.

“Dr. Chilton,” he says with a small nod, not at all surprised to see him.

“Will told you?”

Jack nods. “The only reason I didn’t yell at him is because he’s in a hospital bed with a hole in his gut.”

“Are you going to yell at _me_?”

Jack sighs. “You were framed as a cannibalistic serial killer and forced to live in Will’s house for two and a half months. I’d say you got your punishment.”

Frederick eyes him a moment longer before Jack steps out of the way and allows him to enter the room.

“He’s been demanding someone go and get you. You better get in there before he gets mad.”

Chilton smiles and steps into the hospital room. Despite working in a hospital, Frederick has never liked the silence that tends to ring through a hospital room, punctuated only by the sound of the machines. It’s even more shocking after living in Will’s house for so long, the sharp lines and bland colors so different from the woodsy, dog-filled house.

“Frederick?” a raspy voice asks, and Chilton’s gaze finally settles on the figure in the bed as he steps forward.

Will’s chest is bare, his middle swathed with thick bandages, and his curls are limp against his forehead. His dark hair is shocking against the white of the pillow, and it makes the pallor of his face look even more pronounced.

Frederick moves the last little bit, grabbing the chair that is against the wall, pulling it up to bed and lowering himself onto the cheap upholstery gingerly. “Will.”

Will’s eyes land on him, a small smile curling his mouth. “Freddie rescued you.”

“Apparently I was the first thing you asked for.” Frederick takes his chance, reaching out and grasping the pale hand that’s resting against the white sheets. The hand is cold, but the expression on Will’s face isn’t.

“You were stranded out there,” he says quietly. His voice is nothing more than a raspy whisper in the small room, but it is the best sound Frederick has heard in a long time. “And I wanted to see you.”

Frederick squeezes Will’s hand, holding his gaze. “You got him, Will. You got him.”

Will’s eyes flick down to his bandages. “The only reason Hannibal Lecter was caught is because he wanted to be caught. I merely had a hand in deciding the w _hen_ of that. He wanted to leave his parting mark on me, to make sure even if he isn’t around, I am still thinking about him.”

Frederick shook his head. “You don’t have to think about him. Let this heal and then forget about Hannibal Lecter.”

Will’s eyes drift down to their joined hands. “For the longest time, Hannibal was in my head, owned me. I felt like I was his shadow, sewn to him by my feet and mind with threads of insanity.” Will meets his gaze, and there is warmth there. “Now, I am not so sure that’s a permanent thing.”

Frederick leans forward and kisses him gently, Will’s mouth pliant and accepting beneath his own. He tastes like stale blood and the dry air of the hospital room, but he also tastes like Will, and as Frederick leans back enough to meet Will’s gaze and smile, he knows that whatever comes after this, they’ll get through it together.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this ended in the sappiest way possible. Anyways, I would love your feedback :)


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